The Imagination of Blaise Zabini
by Daisy Pennifold
Summary: In which Blaise Zabini's fantastic daydreams begin to merge with reality, and a certain Gryffindor heroine becomes involved. DISCONTINUED
1. Just My Imagination

_First of all, I DON'T write song fics. I never read songs that people put in their stories, and I certainly won't make my readers do that. However, if you're interested, the inspiration for this story is from two separate items. One is James Thurber's brilliant short story, "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty". The other is the Temptations' "Just My Imagination", which is one of those songs that make me all giddy inside. Just because I'm a Temps fan, though, does not make me anywhere near as old as this song! Some things are just classics for a reason. –Daisy_

Blaise was a writer, mostly. That's the way he described himself. If anyone asked, "and who are you?" He always replied, "I'm a writer, mostly. Blaise. Zabini."

If a fellow Slytherin introduced him, it was the same thing. "Mum, this is Zabini. He's in my year. He writes." This was apparently such an odd hobby for a Slytherin to admit to having that the subject always changed rather abruptly. Blaise felt that he could admit to having a romantic liaison with the giant squid and be thought less strange.

Only one person had ever been sufficiently interested in his hobby to ask about it, and he had fallen instantly in love with her. Blaise was like that. That had been back in Fourth Year.

"May I sit here?"

Blaise had looked up from the parchment he had been scribbling furiously on. It was very early in the morning to be at the library, but he had woken up with an idea in his head that he had to write down before he lost it. The idea, not his mind or anything. He had discovered that he was out of parchment, and tried writing on his robe before giving up and sprinting to the library and grabbing a piece of parchment out of Madam Pince's spare bin. He had repeated the main points all the way up from the dungeons and hadn't forgotten too much. Now someone was bugging him just as he was getting to the details. Damn.

As such, it took him a minute to register what the girl was saying to him.

She must have taken his confusion for a cool Slytherin glare, because she hurried on with, "Never mind. I'm sorry. You probably don't want to be both-"

"You can sit. It won't bother me."

He watched her face relax, and was back to writing before the girl had even sat down. He was beginning to flesh out details, when he realized the girl wasn't studying or anything. He looked up to find her watching him. How nerve-wracking.

"I didn't mean to bother you. I'm –"

"Hermione Granger," he finished, cutting her off for the second time. "Potter's friend."

"That's right," she replied, apparently surprised that he knew. As if there was _anyone_ at school who didn't know who she and Weasley were, because of Potter.

"And you are – You're in my year, aren't you? Fourth Year?"

"That's right. The name's Blaise. Zabini. I'm a writer, mostly." With that, he turned his attention back to the draft in front of him. He tried his best not to show his shock at her next question.

"What do- What do you write?"

He looked up again and stared at the girl, fully intending to answer. Instead, he asked, "Why did you come over here to sit?"

"Oh. Him. Them. Krum," she replied, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder, as the group of girls stalking Krum began giggling again. "This is the farthest table from Krum and his fan club in the entire library, and I wanted some peace so that I could finish Flitwick's essay."

"I'll leave you to it then." Before she could protest, he grabbed his parchment, quill, and ink, stuffed them into his satchel, and strolled out smoothly, hoping she would think it was another case of Slytherin arrogance and not the desperately stupid actions of a man in love.

That was three years ago. She had never spoken to him again, and by Fifth Year seemed to have forgotten him altogether, as her eyes drifted over him like a stranger when they passed in the corridors.

He hadn't forgotten.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was a ridiculous fantasy. He knew that quite well. She was a Gryffindor, almost famous and the top of their year. She was Head Girl now, partnered with that bullying prat, Malfoy, as a school leader.

Blaise, on the other hand, did his best to keep a low profile, and fervently hoped he was relatively unknown outside his house. He certainly didn't attempt to make friends, inside or out. He had plenty of casual acquaintances, and had never desired anything more. Until that encounter with Granger.

He had experienced an almost irresistible desire to tell her everything that day. About his dreams, daydreams and night-dreams so vivid and real that he was always surprised to wake up from them and then the rush to grab parchment and pen to get it down, quickly, before he forgot.

He didn't ever call it dreaming, in case he slipped in front of his housemates. Writing was bad enough; dreaming would be unacceptable. He called them his 'ideas', which was quite scary and Slytherin-y, he thought, and intimidating enough that he was (for the most part) left alone. After all, who wanted to mess with a Seventh Year Slytherin whose bureau, desk and trunk were full of the frantic scribblings he called 'ideas'? No one. No one ever wanted to find out what those ideas were.

Except for Hermione.

He doubted that she remembered their long ago conversation at all, now, but up to now he hadn't cared. For three years his dreams had included her, in bit parts and leading roles, at least once a week. He felt an intimacy with Hermione Granger that he had never felt with another person before. He felt as if he knew her, in a way no one else did. He felt that theirs was an eternal love, one for the ages.

Of course, it was entirely one-sided. She probably didn't know that he was alive. If she did, she didn't care. So he probably wasn't rational in blaming her when the dreams stopped. But he did.

Especially since the last dream, nearly a month ago, had been such a cliffie.

The Cliffie Dream>>>>

They were lying on a blanket, the two of them, as they often did after Blaise was forced to rescue Hermione from the various perilous situations Potter and Weasley were always getting her into. They were under a tree at the lake, with a break in the clouds so that warm sunshine beamed down on the two of them. They were alone, of course. After the cheering had stopped in the Great Hall and Potter and Weasley sent to the hospital wing, Blaise had pulled Dumbledore aside (not an easy feat, what with Hermione clinging to him and all of the roses and knickers on the floor) and murmured, "I think I need some down time with the lady, old man. Keep everyone away from the lake for the next couple of hours, capisce?"

"Yes sir, certainly, Mr. Zabini. I'll send one of the house elves down with a hamper and a blanket – it will be set up before you get there."

"Fine. But no mince pie this time. I _loathe _mince pie."

"Of course! Tibby," Dumbledore turned to address the house elf that had appeared at his side. "Please prepare a picnic for Mr. Zabini and Miss Granger. Set it up down by the lake. No mince pie, mind. In fact, take mince pie off of the menu altogether."

So here they were, just the two of them. Hermione had stopped fawning all over him (she only really did that in public anyway) and they were cuddled in companionable silence, the light breeze tugging at Blaise's black curls as he smiled down at Hermione.

"You know, love, I can't keep rescuing you all of the time."

"I know Blaise. You won't have to anymore, though, now that you've defeated Voldemort. You arrived just in the nick of time! Harry and Ron were about to be killed, and the Death Eaters were closing in on me – where did you learn a spell that would kill them all at once?"

"I just made it up on the spot. A simple, but deadly, combination of the Protean charm and Furnunculus – once I hit one Death Eater's mark, they all turned into mushrooms at once. After that, it was a simple matter to pluck them all up, and that primavera sauce was delicious at supper, wasn't it? I – Oh, no."

"What is it, Blaise?"

"I'm waking up, love. I'll see you next time."

Blaise had just had enough time to kiss her upturned face before the dream ended. However, as he was waking, he heard Hermione scream and felt, rather than saw, the icy presence of an army of Dementors advancing.

He had woken up in a cold sweat and proceeded to write down every aspect of the strange dream. Strange at the end, that is. His dreams about Hermione always ended beautifully. He had never woken up before with something about to happen, especially something so desperately dangerous. He worried about Hermione, even though he saw her nearly every day after the dream, and was really annoyed that he couldn't get back into his dreams to save her.

It was nearly maddening enough to make him want to talk to her in the flesh.


	2. Manxome Foes

_Author's Note: Blaise wanted to speak Italian in this chapter, but because I've never studied it, I refused to let him. I made him stand up, be a man, and face his enemies without resorting to insulting them in another language. By the way, the incomparable Lewis Carroll created the setting for Blaise's dream in this chapter._

So he went down to the lake. No big deal, right? Lots of students spent time down by the lake. Happy, fun time with friends and all that.

Just not Blaise.

He hung out with people sometimes, but never for very long at a stretch. If he were to sit at the lake with everyone else, he would be forced to make _small talk_, something he avoided like the plague.

Today, however, here he was, down at the site of his most recent dream, comparing the notes in his 'idea log' (no, not a dream journal – only girls have those) to the actual area, looking for a clue. He had successfully avoided the groups of students scattered about the lawn surrounding the lake, and was just beginning to examine the place, when he heard lumbering steps behind him. He knew who it was without looking round, and by the time the other boys were near enough to talk, he had reduced his parchment, placed it in a tiny caplet and swallowed it (it would be a few days before he could get it back – gross, huh? However, it was the only sure way of keeping his idea log from Malfoy). He pulled a piece of his Transfiguration notes out of his robes, along with his wand.

"Zabini."

Blaise vanished the ink on the parchment very obviously and deliberately before turning to face the trio leering at him.

"Malfoy. Morons," he added in a polite tone, addressing Crabbe and Goyle, who looked at him blankly. He tended to insult Malfoy and his henchmen constantly, and though it had earned him a few black eyes, he felt that it was worth it. It just made them _so mad_.

"Zabini. You have yet to attend a meeting. Did you think I wasn't going to notice? I know Pansy told you about the one last night."

"Parkinson's a cow. I tune her out as soon as she starts talking. Don't you?"

Malfoy's face turned ugly, as only his could, in a split second. He slammed Blaise's back into a tree; an action Blaise felt was a bit uncalled for. After all, Malfoy had called Parkinson much worse, to her face, on many occasions. Blaise grinned at him.

"When are you going to straighten out, Zabini? I have more trouble with you than the rest of the house altogether. You need to make your loyalties clear, _now_, before people start to get suspicious."

"You really are thick, aren't you, Malfoy? I am loyal to one person: me. I've never tried to hide that fact. I'd rather kiss Crabbe than bow down to some psycho who calls himself a "dark lord". Voldemort is as pathetic and as misguided as you are."

Malfoy looked livid, and was about to speak, when Crabbe jumped in with, "Hey, you said my name!" and punched Blaise in the jaw. He saw stars, and though it was by no means Crabbe's best work, he was knocked again up against the tree, and sat down hard. The three boys began to close in, and Blaise shook his head to try to get his thoughts together enough to jump up and make a run for it, when he heard the sweetest sound in the world.

"Hey, Malfoy!"

It was Hermione. She seemed to float down the long slope from the castle to the lake. Malfoy swore under his breath and stepped away from Blaise nonchalantly. He had been civil to Granger since the beginning of the year. He claimed it was because they had to work together as Heads and he was acting professional, but everyone knew that it was because she had very publicly hexed him in a very private area. Her picture graced the Slytherin common room dartboard, but Malfoy certainly wasn't about to get on the wrong end of her wand again if he could help it.

"Yes, Granger, what is it?"

"Dumbledore sent me to find you. It's time for your monthly talk with him. I've just had mine."

"Alright then. Let's go." Crabbe and Goyle began to follow Malfoy back to the castle.

"Oh, wait." Malfoy turned and pointed his wand at Blaise.

"Accio parchment." Blaise's wiped Transfiguration notes soared through the air and into Malfoy's hand. He grinned, and said, "Did you really think I'd forget to take your little diary, Zabini? You've got to give up this writing business, you know. It just isn't normal." Hermione watched the exchange with a confused look on her face, but said nothing. She turned to Blaise, and gasped as she noticed the way his jaw was rapidly swelling. She kneeled down on the grass next to Blaise and put a hand on his shoulder. He turned to face her, and tried hard to focus his swimming eyes on the girl.

"Oh, dear. Are you all right? Did Malfoy do this to you? I've told that git a thousand times-"

"S'alright. I'm fine." Blaise shook his head again and rubbed his jaw as he stood up, leaning against the tree for balance and turning to look at Hermione up close for the first time in years.

She was smaller than he remembered. Shorter, and her features were tiny framed in that wild nest of hair. She had it pulled back into a bun with a quill sticking out, but he got the impression that it didn't help much. She had her hand on his shoulder still, and was looking up at him with concern.

"Can I do anything for you? Do you want to go to the hospital wing?"

Blaise shook his head, dusted off his clothes, and started back up the hill with Hermione at his side. It was so similar to some of his dreams that he had to keep his hands in his pockets so that he didn't reach for her hand.

At the Entry Hall, he turned to face her at the foot of the large staircase. "Do you ever have – strange dreams, or visions, or anything?" he said, amazed that he could keep his voice so steady.

"Sometimes. I haven't for a while though."

"Yeah, me too." He turned and headed for the dungeons.

"Wait, what do you mean? Why did you ask me that?" He didn't answer her.

As he walked he could feel her eyes on his back until he turned a corner. He sat down, breathless with the thoughts of her, before an idea came to him.

He was going to take a nap.

The Nightmare Dream

Blaise landed on all fours, catlike, with a soft thump and cracklings from the dried leaves and twigs underfoot. He looked around, and nodded grimly to himself. He'd been here before.

From the dim light drifting down from the shaft he'd just fallen through, he could roughly make out the bottoms of shelves and cupboards he'd passed on his way down. He could hear screaming down the passage and followed it, knowing that it was her.

He reached the hallway full of doors just in time to see the Jabberwock galumphing full force towards the looking-glass house far in the distance. The door he could see the beast through slammed shut. He tried all of the doors on that side of the hall before he remembered that if a looking-glass beast were running rampant, things were getting twisted. He immediately walked backwards to the other side of the hall and melted through a door directly behind him.

He had never seen the outside of the hallway he had just left, and this time was no different. As soon as he had passed through the door, he was outside, and facing the direction that the Jabberwock had been heading, with nothing in-between but a twisty path, some dark woods, and a small riverside shop. The river ran parallel to the direction he was going, and he hoped that he wouldn't have to cross it. In Wonderland you never knew.

He reached the shop after a few tries, when he realized that he needed to run in the opposite direction. He entered to find the sheep proprietress knitting. It looked as though she was using about fourteen needles at once. She didn't look up when he entered, just said, "Sixpence."

"What do you mean, 'sixpence'? I haven't even chosen anything to buy, yet!"

She looked at him disapprovingly, and bleated, "I thought you knew the rules here. You're acting ridiculous. Sixpence."

He paid the sheep with a sigh, and looked around. He didn't know what he came in for, but he knew that whatever he needed most would be here, if he only could pick it out.

After what seemed to him an interminable amount of time, he saw it, far up on the wall of the dark shop. He didn't look directly at it, finally remembering one of the rules, but climbed a small ladder attached to rails on the wall. When he saw the object approach out of the corner of his eye, he dove for it, and just managed to slip through the small mirror.

Hermione was sitting in an armchair next to the chessboard. She looked up at him as he came crashing through the mirror, and her relieved face was all of the thanks he needed. She ran to him, and hugged him tightly before he bent to begin repairing the curios and whatnots on the mantelpiece in looking-glass house that had crashed to the floor with him. He and Hermione picked them up as they shouted and cried indignantly. Luckily he had his wand with him, as many of the pieces were chipped or broken.

"I knew you'd come for me."

"You probably could have escaped by yourself."

"I doubt it. I lost my wand running from the dementors and the vorpal blade is nowhere to be found. I looked for it in all of the cupboards, but it wasn't there, and the Jabberwock was waiting at the bottom of the rabbit hole."

"You- wait a minute. Did you say dementors?"

Hermione looked at Blaise as though he were insane. "Yes, Blaise. You were there, remember? You woke up, just as the dementors were coming. I ran, and fell down here. I haven't seen anyone though. I thought the Cheshire Cat would be here, anyway, but something's mixed up Wonderland and looking-glass world. The Jabberwock broke through somehow, before his poem was written, I guess, or he'd be dead, wouldn't he? I was afraid that you wouldn't be able to find me at all."

"It's just – my dreams have never been continuations before. Where's the Jabberwock now?"

"In the garden. He's tramping on the flowers – they got lippy with him. He dropped me on the doorstep, and I tried to run away, but of course I just ended up back here, so I came in and waited for you. I'm glad you found a mirror."

"It isn't my place to kill him, or yours, we know that. My guess is that we have to write the poem, which will bring the youth with the vorpal blade to destroy him. That should set everything to rights."

"Oh, Blaise, you're brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?"

"Only one problem, love. I don't remember the entire poem."

"Oh, I do!" Hermione placed her heels together, toes turned out, and her hands behind her back. Blaise grabbed up a book and pencil sitting next to the chess board, ignoring the White King's protests. As she began to recite, Blaise wrote the words of the poem, marveling as they flowed in perfect mirror writing from his pencil.

" 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves-"

While Hermione recited and Blaise recorded, they could hear the sounds of a fierce battle raging outside looking-glass house. As Hermione reached, "And through and through/The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!" They felt a huge vibration as the Jabberwock's body hit the ground, and heard the hoofbeats of the youth's horse riding away. As she finished reciting, there was silence, and the Cheshire Cat appeared in the armchair.

"That was nice of you. Though not nice for the Jabberwock."

"It had to be done."

"I suppose. Although he hadn't quite finished destroying the garden. You could have waited, you know."

"I don't suppose you're going to help us to get home."

"Naturally I will. You don't belong here anyway. Look in the mirror."

Blaise and Hermione turned, and saw Alice playing with a small kitten in the drawing room opposite. As they watched, she held the kitten up to the mirror.

"Oh dear. Blaise, we need to hurry."

"Well?" said Blaise, turning back to the Cheshire Cat, who was already disappearing.

"Floo Powder, of course. You wizard types aren't too bright, are you?" His grin disappeared with a snap, following the rest of him. Blaise grabbed a small jade container from a table next to the fireplace and he and Hermione flooed just as Alice perched precariously on the mantel above them.

They landed in Dumbledore's office, but no one was around. Even the pictures had fled their frames, with only one wizard in dark green robes peering down at them curiously.

"Oh, lovely," the portrait drawled. "Our hero is here. Now maybe you can do something about the dementors swarming the castle. Or do you lot have to snog a bit first?"

"Dementors, where?"

"Everywhere. I thought you two were supposed to be intelligent? Dumbledore is holding them back as best he can, but he said to send you down as soon as you'd returned with Miss Granger."

"I'm off then. St- Oh, damn. I'm waking up!"

"Blaise, wait!"

Blaise awoke yelling, and lunged for his parchment. The nap had been short, but he had jumped into the dream immediately. He heard one of his roommates exiting the dorm, calling back to him, "C'mon, Zabini, ya puff! It's supper."

He had only just walked into the Great Hall when a tiny owl landed on his shoulder, holding his leg out importantly as he twittered and hopped around. Blaise grabbed him long enough to get the message from his leg, and sat down to read it a little apart from everyone else at the table.

_Zabini – _

_I don't know why you asked me about dreams earlier, but today I had one. A weird one. Involving you. And now that I think of it, you have been in all of my weird dreams, but I didn't know that it was you until today. This doesn't make sense, I know. I want to talk to you about it, please! Meet me in the library after supper. _

" '_Twas brillig, and the slithy toves-"_

_Ring any bells?_

_-H.J.G._

He looked at her across the crowded Great Hall, and in the brief instant that their eyes met he could tell that she was as frightened and as mystified as he was.


End file.
